Memory
by Axie Flamesilocks
Summary: Oneshot.  Wander's POV memories of someone precious.


It seems like I would remember more than just that, a simple memory of a time before the happiness of love. After three years of undying devotion, it's mind-boggling.

But I remember it all the same.

We were sitting on the bank of the river, watching leaves and deadwood float by, as though from some wreck long ago. I loved her then, but that was before she knew it—before our first embrace, our first kiss. My eyes were fixated on her, and I watched every graceful movement; the slight stir of her hair in the wind, midnight black, and her pale fingers trailing in the water. She looked up then, and her dark eyes met mine.

What are you thinking about?

I had hesitated, fearing she had caught me looking, but then I relaxed and smiled. It was so easy to smile around her.

Nothing much.

She smiled in return, and turned back to the water, her silken dress slipping smoothly over her skin. I wonder where it all came from, she murmured, gesturing to the deadwood. We usually don't get this much. Perhaps there was a flood.

I shrugged negligently. They're only trees. It doesn't matter.

The corners of her lips dropped, and I knew I had said the wrong thing. Of course—she loved trees. I'd almost forgotten that.

They lived once, too, she reminded me in a quieter voice. Maybe they had thoughts, too. Feelings. Dreams.

Maybe, I replied tolerantly.

We were silent for a time. She watched the water reflectively, and I stole glances at her from time to time. After a few moments, a pink flower bobbed across the water, rotating lazily with its petals half-furled, a bright yellow sun at its center. She reached for it, but it passed her by.

Oh—

Don't worry. I'll get it.

I reached a bit too far, a bit too fast, and felt the petals fragment in my grip. In disappointment, I looked at the crushed flower in my hand, purpled with its own blood. Once again, I didn't know my own strength. I heard a sigh from beside me, and looked up to see she was looking out at the trees.

It's only a flower, I scoffed, brushing the sticky petals off my hands.

You say that about everything.

Her tone was accusing, and I hesitated. I was walking on delicate ground. Not sure what to do, I looked at the river again for some distraction. A second flower floated along the surface, its dark red petals pointed like blades, and I dipped my hand in ahead of time, catching it and carefully balancing it on one finger. I held it out to her, watching her eyes light up.

It's very pretty, I suppose, I remarked lightly as she took it and cupped it in her hands. But it can't compare.

Her eyes widened and she looked up at me in surprise, seeking the answer to the unasked question. When I smiled at her, she blushed a bright scarlet, turning nearly the shade of the flower in her hands. Feeling my heart pounding in my chest, I gently lifted her chin and drew closer, breathing in the scent I had come to treasure.

That wasn't the first kiss. We were interrupted, as I remember, but somehow that memory still sticks in my mind. Perhaps it was that fiery blush of hers, that moment when I held the stalk of a precious flower as gently as I could, fearing I would somehow destroy it.

I really thought I would remember more than that—that maybe there would be something more important. But that was enough, as it turned out.

When I felled the first, clinging to its fur and bracing for impact, it wasn't a memory of some insignificant kiss that floated through my mind—it was a light touch here, or a smile, even one that wasn't genuine. And when I felled the last, feeling my entire body throb with pain, I remembered the flower she held in her hands. Just a Colossus, I managed through lungs weak with something I couldn't describe. Only a Colossus.

It can't compare.

So now, as I struggle against this unnatural gust of wind, clinging to the altar as my strength fades away, I look upon her. She looks so much like that day, a little older perhaps, but beautiful all the same. I can't tell if she's alive or not. I restrain the impulse to touch her, hold her like I once did—I don't want to soil her, stain her petals, or else crush her in my grip.

But wait—did her dress just flutter? Maybe the wind—or no! She's breathing!

My strength fails me for the first time and I am dragged back across the unrelenting stone. Fingernails dig into the mossy growth and cracks in the stone, smoky black blood running—but it doesn't hurt. It doesn't matter.

She's breathing, is all I can think as the altar disappears from view. She gently takes the flower from my hand—I caught it for you, finally.

It wasn't for nothing.

She's alive.


End file.
